Building a Dream: A Look at the Top 30 Complete Sets in the Hobby

by
Brian Bigelow

Many of those first and last cards, like Pafko, can be very tough to find for the condition conscious collector.

Memories are precious to card collectors. Most enthusiasts can recall
their very first contact with the hobby. For the majority, the introduction took
place with a single, unopened and unfamiliar wax pack.

Before that package's wrapping was disturbed by the new owner,
the concepts of collecting and trading cards – let alone buying and selling
them were not yet relevant. The first pack is a purely sensory experience
and the initial sight of the cards can be a life shaping event.

Typically, the attributes of a pack's cardboard collectible that merit
instant attention are the most superficial ones. The buyer is apt to respond,
right away, to the sight of a player's picture, quickly noting whether he is
a famous star, a lesser figure or a total unknown. The athlete's team and
its uniform are the details that are processed next (along with, perhaps,
the front of the card's color scheme, franchise logo graphics and border
design), and then the back of the card is examined. There, the viewer
finds information that is generally presented in the form of text, statistics
and the like. All of these acts of comprehension take place in merely a
second or less; it's an oh so brief interval that can still be enough to ignite
a long burning flame.

At some undefined point in the acquaintance making session that
takes place between a card pack and its buyer the unsuspecting
purchaser who may, after all, have simply wanted a piece of gum a
subtle revelation occurs. The cards' new owner discovers the pieces are
numbered. If it's 1962, for instance, and Stan Musial is the face greeting
the fortunate person who parts the folds of the green Topps Company
wrapper, it will eventually be apparent that a pair of numerals "50" sits
inside a small, baseball styled circle at the cardback's upper left corner.
This "50" doesn't seem to have any special significance, yet it occupies
a spot that's hard to overlook. The idea dawns rather quickly that this
prized Stan the Man piece is part of a sequence, and the intellect, unbidden,
wishes for additional information.

If Musial was hiding inside a five cent pack (the premium size that
contained more than one card), further details were close at hand, as
his packmates would have carried similarly placed identifiers: "32" John
Roseboro, "21" Jim Kaat, "75" Milt Pappas, and an entirely different
thing here – "53," on a card that showcases Mickey Mantle, Roger Maris
and the American League's other home run leaders for 1961!

Clearly, a pattern was taking shape. These numbers held designated
positions in a mysterious sequence and their presence was triggering the
urge to investigate further. Naturally, it's just one small step from that
point – the inevitable – trying to obtain all of the numbers. The new goal
was to obtain the full array of card subjects and having every one of them
in hand simultaneously.

More clues became available with the purchase of additional packs.
Inside one of those would likely have been the cards' Rosetta Stone,
a piece that answered many questions: the Checklist ("22") for 1962
Topps' Series 1.

Among its orderly roster were numbers "1" Roger Maris, "5" Sandy
Koufax, "45" Brooks Robinson, and many more, extending all the way
to number 88. Eighty eight different cards soon became the brand-new
hobbyist's objective, "... got to get them all," and more packs were bought
with this goal in mind.

As subsequent pack buys were made and examined, a couple of
new wrinkles emerged that complicated the seemingly straightforward
business of assembling all of the cards. Card #22 in the 1962 Topps set
is sometimes found displaying numbers 121 through 176 on its back,
instead of the proper span between #33 and #88. Not only did the "Wrong
Back" Checklist fail to list the issue's subjects in proper order, it gave
a frustrating "sneak preview" to the novice enthusiast. No matter how
many packs were opened on the heels of the Checklist's revelation, it
was, at that moment, impossible to obtain "150" Al Kaline or "170" Ron
Santo. They were in a series that had yet to go on sale, and it would take
a while for the collector to become wise to Topps' "come on" method of
promoting upcoming segments of its product.

Having stuck with it to this point, however, a buyer was usually
hooked. The prospect of completing a full set of cards became a
challenge and a fascination. Trading ("swapping") began to occur as
would be completists tried to overcome their respective set's deficits
by exchanging duplicates. Before long, the avocation naturally spread
among individuals who discovered that they had this "set building" preoccupation
in common.

A fan's passion for building sets derives from the systematic behavior
of looking for a multitude of numbers and placing them in order.
It is an activity that separates "collectors" from undirected gatherers or
accumulators. Accordingly, a card maker's idea of placing sequential
numbers on cards was perhaps the most significant development in the
collecting hobby. With card numbers in place, the quest for completion
is elementary. So, the compulsion of set building begins the moment a
collector is first exposed to cards. Once the seed of interest is planted,
the drive to nurture its growth is demonstrably insatiable!

Although the incentive to put together sets can be provoked by simple
curiosity about the card numbers, motivation is sustained by results. A
complete set from any era acts as a time capsule, allowing the viewer to
re-experience events that were current at the time the assembly was created.
Full sets enable nostalgic tours of the 1950s, thoughtful recollections
of the 1960s, or more recent reminiscing about the 1970s. Revisiting an
early 1960s set brings to mind that period's then new multi-player cards,
its League Leaders, its Team cards and, in general, the season's activities
in their most favorable light. A 1975 Topps set, with its gaudy, color edged
motif, just looks like a 1970s production, and it's a delight to view. But
these more contemplative satisfactions aren't immediately apparent to
the person who's just bought a first pack, and they're well down the road
for someone who's barely had time to notice the card numbers!

The lesson brought to bear by the 1962 Topps baseball cards ("a
checklist isn't always what it seems to be") has corollaries in other years'
collectibles too. Most types of cards have their own quirks that, depending
upon one's point of view, make the effort to collect them especially
vexing or rewarding.

For example, logic dictates that the star players in a set would be the
most desirable. Although that notion is frequently true, it's just as often
contradicted by exceptions. Certain entries are short printed in various
issues, as press sheet layout and other considerations caused specific
cards to be produced in smaller quantities than others. Production figures
alone, in cases like these, mandate that cards like the 1963 Topps #470
Tom Tresh (an "SP") will be inherently tougher to find – and thus more
"valuable" to a set builder – than the same year, same series depiction
of Hall of Famer Orlando Cepeda (#520). The "SP" phenomenon occurs
repeatedly in set collecting, as does the circumstance in which "High
Numbers" (those portions of a set released near the end of a season)
are made in lesser abundance than the earlier, preceding groups. No
sport's or topic's cards are immune from these built-in scarcities. They
are a challenge in any set building arena!

Sometimes, the manufacturer isn't to blame. In years gone by, before
cards were perceived to hold actual "value," discarding duplicate
"common cards" of undistinguished players was a routine part of a setbuilder's
housecleaning. Years later, many of those "commons" deemed
unnecessary and disposable at their time of issue are actually the same
pieces hungered for by advanced collectors seeking to assemble highgrade
sets.

Condition constitutes another matter of some gravity among setbuilders.
If one aspires to complete a full set, doesn't it make sense that
an attractive, uncirculated looking set of all the cards would be best of
all? As collecting evolved and the appearance of cards became a factor
in their desirability, "condition
rarity" became widely
understood to apply to those
cards that were always a
chore to find in high-grade.
The first and last cards in a
set, due to rubber banding
and in-order stacking, are especially
susceptible to damage.
Number one cards like
the 1952 Topps Andy Pafko,
1953 Topps Jackie Robinson
and 1966 Topps Willie Mays
are condition rarities, as are
such last cards as the 1954
Topps #250 Ted Williams and
1967 Topps #609 Tommy
John. Many of those first
and last cards, like Pafko,
can be very tough to find
for the condition conscious
collector.

Modern times have
brought about sophistication
in many pursuits, and so
it is with trading cards and
set building. These cards are
much more elaborate than in
past years, and the manner
in which they're collected has
seen dramatic improvement.
Years ago, devotees of setbuilding
relied on word-of-mouth,
casual contact and a
few dealers to gain information
about set building projects and to acquire missing cards. Today,
the PSA Set Registry allows precise comparison between collectors'
holdings (conferring "bragging rights" at the same time) and reveals
which cards are notably scarce. By studying the PSA Population
Report data, participants can identify condition rarities and adjust
their collecting strategies to elevate the priority of those items in the
search for material.

In order to do justice to each card issue, it was necessary to
select a very finite, too limited number of sets for this "All-Time" listing.
They were chosen on the basis of inherent, enduring appeal and
widespread appreciation that each one inspires among hobbyists. It
must be noted that these 30 sets are a cultural art form's highlights,
not its full extent. More than a century of trading card production has
yielded numerous issues that are truly fantastic. Isolating an elite few
for "All-Time" honors requires methods of necessity that leave many
great sets on the sidelines.

The enjoyment realized from completing sets of cards is evident to
anyone who has tried it, and it's a definite force among those who have
succeeded. Finishing a year's worth of cards entitles the hobbyist to
look over a gallery in full bloom, with stars and memorable commons
displayed together in a neat, inclusive continuum. It's fun to collect
single cards, but there's closure in sets and satisfactory completion
is often regarded as a beginning, rather than an end, with a hobbyist
preparing for their next collecting challenge.